


Blue Night

by afrazzledfriend



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Connor Murphy Lives (Dear Evan Hansen), Fire, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Sporadic Updates, Zoe and Connor are adopted, blue exorcist au but i remove as much religion as possible, demons and magic and familiars, its mental illness innit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrazzledfriend/pseuds/afrazzledfriend
Summary: Connor Murphy's always had anger issues, but he never thought they'd be directly tied to his life going up in flames.Literally.
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Blue Night

**Author's Note:**

> So, a few months back, I posted this and promptly deleted it because I hated it. However, I decided to give it a reread today and decided that, actually, I kind of like the concept.  
> I'm not entirely sure where I want this to go yet, but please keep an eye out for the tags in case I decide to change anything :)  
> With that being said, I hope you enjoy!

The bitter cold that welcomes the end of fall nips at his nose, accompanied by a gust of wind that leaves his hands and face numb. Connor cups his hands against his mouth, huffing into it in hopes that it'll be enough to bring the feeling back to his face.

It doesn’t work.

Defeated, he finally settles his himself on the swing seat, slow hands gripping at the chains, which groan in defiance, while he leans back, tilting his head towards the cloudy night sky.

It’s dark out, he notices, trying to focus on that instead of the fact that he's sure Larry's sent some unlucky soul to go out searching for him; that the moment he steps foot in the monastery, he's going to have his ear talked off. But that's a problem for future Connor. Right now, he just wants to stare at the sky and feign poeticness.

Maybe it’d be better if his hands did end up sticking to the rusted chains-- then, he’d have an excuse for staying out so late; maybe Larry would soften the blow of his words  _ just  _ a little bit.

He shakes his head. There's no way in hell he’d manage to get away with being out long enough for that to happen. It's only a matter of time before someone wanders across his path and drags him back home.

Slowly, he moves his fingers, keeping his palms placed firmly against the front of the chains to keep himself from falling into the unforgiving mud below him. However, it ends up failing him when he catches on to the sound of soft footsteps padding against the ground, accompanied by a voice that cuts through the calm of the night.

“Dad’s pissed,” Zoe dryly informs him; her words failing to process in his brain as he collides with the ground.

“Hey- what the fuck? A little warning next time, will you?”

Zoe doesn’t respond, instead opting to walk right towards him and pull his sulking figure up from the mud and onto his feet. He goes to smack it away, her hand retracting before his gets there. He huffs. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes.

“You were supposed to be back  _ three hours ago.” _

“Yeah? Well, I lost my watch.”

She scoffs, reaching out to grab his arm; he shoves it into his pocket.

“What the hell were you doing, anyway?”

He feels the right side of his mouth quirk up. “ _ Sinning.” _

Her face scrunches up, and she holds her hand up to stop him. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to hear  _ any  _ of it.”

“You sure? Because i’d just  _ love  _ to tell you about how I was sucking d--” he’s interrupted with a hand pressed against his mouth. However, he only needs to lick her hand to get her to pull it back. She shakes her hand violently, as if that would be enough to rid herself of the germs.

“You’re fucking  _ gross.” _

Connor decides to ignore her comment, and instead clears his throat, reaching into his hoodie pocket. “ _ As I was saying- _ ”

“Connor, I swear-”

“I happened to find a guy who could hook me up with  _ meth.” _

He thinks he deserves a fucking medal for being able to maintain a poker face while Zoe’s jaw drops. She lunges for him, reaching for his pockets. He pulls the plastic Ziploc bag out of his pocket, extending his arm above his head-- out of her reach.

“Do you have any idea what dad would do if he found that??” she demands, pointlessly grabbing at air.

He rolls his eyes, plopping the bag into his other hand and holding it out for her to see. “Holy shit, calm down. Just a joke, see? It’s only weed.”   
  


She visibly relaxes, annoyance becoming more prominent in her expression. 

She grips tightly onto the sleeve of his hoodie and starts walking.

Neither of them exchange another word on their way back home.

* * *

  
  


Standing in the doorway is none other than Larry Murphy, his arms crossed tightly across his abdomen while his right foot thumps against the ground. He looks like what Connor would imagine to be a disappointed mother.

As soon as he’s close enough, Larry reaches out and grabs him by the ear, pulling him inside. Faintly, he hears Zoe shut the door. It isn’t until then that Larry speaks up.

“Six. I told you to be home by six, Connor.”

“Lost track of time,” he responds dully.

His hand grips firmly around his arm, the other unrolling his sleeve to reveal a watch. Conor opts to turn his head away, staring blankly at one of the many candles that lay across the walls.

“I sent Zoe out to search for you nearly  _ two hours ago, Connor.  _ Did you even stop to think about how cold she must be? What if she froze to death?”

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, well I never asked you to send someone out for me, did I? If you’re so worried about  _ Zoe,  _ then why didn’t you go looking for me yourself?”

“Connor, you know I have other-”

“Other what? More important things to do? Look, we both know that you wouldn’t give two shits if I died, but sending Zoe out there is fucking sick-”

“Connor-”

And, for a brief moment, Connor feels something burning inside of him-- a fire that doesn’t feel metaphorical. It  _ burns. _

So he shouts: “Fuck you!”

It disappears, and he’s left with Larry Murphy standing right in front of him with wide eyes-- but not at him. Something  _ behind  _ him.

He turns to see Zoe blowing out a candle. When he looks back at Larry, the fear that had previously settled upon his face no longer there, and is instead replaced with a stern look that’s he’s mildly convinced Larry’s trademarked.

“I have these rules set in place for a reason, Connor.”

“Oh, I know,” he starts, tone deceptively light, “Because  _ you think-” _

“We can talk more about this in the morning,” Larry dismisses.

Connor finds that he's too exhausted to argue.

He storms off to his room, being sure to make as much noise as humanly possible because  _ Fuck you, Larry. _

He shuts the door with a force that shakes the walls, promptly collapsing in a heap on his bed, which is piled with unfolded clothes.

_ Tomorrow.  _ He tells himself.  _ I'll fold them tomorrow. _

Then he throws the blanket over his head and passes out.

He wakes to a series of impatient knocks on his door. Better not to respond, he concludes, flipping to lay on his other side.

The world, however, is completely against Connor experiencing peace for even a moment, and is even more against his wishing to close his eyes and sleep for a solid sixteen hours.

Sure enough, he hears the handle twist, the door hitting the wall with a bang.

"I read somewhere that sleeping with your head underneath the blankets causes brain damage," Zoe tells him.

"How much more of this do you think it'll take before I don't have to process any of the shit you're saying?"

She responds with a sigh that makes him grind his teeth together; over-exaggeration is okay every now and then-- but there's something about sighs that leaves him wanting to tear all of his hair from his skull.

The pillow that smacks against his head doesn't help out, either. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to ignore that way his heart is beating violently in his chest, and sits up, the blankets sliding down to rest in his lap.

Zoe stops, mid swing of her pillow, and  _ laughs _ .

"You look like hell," she snorts.

He rolls his eyes.

"Okay, but seriously, get up. Dad wanted you out there like…" she pauses, rolling her head dramatically to the side to look at the clock on his wall. "Five minutes ago."

Instead of jumping out of bed and running through the halls to find out what Larry wants from him just as any competent child would, he lays back down.

"Then he can wait another five."

"Yeah, no," she says, ripping the blankets from him. "Neither of us are going to hear the end of it if I let you sleep in. Get up."

"'M already late. You've already let me sleep in. Future's set in stone. Now fuck off."

"Nope," she says decisively, laying a hand on his shoulder and shaking. "I'm being serious. He'll be pissed."

"Oh my god Zoe.." he starts, sitting back up to shove her back. "I said  _ fuck off  _ already. Jesus Christ."

It's too late when he realizes that he's shoved her too hard. She falls backwards, into the wall behind her.

He's on his feet and by her side in mere moments, his heart in his throat.

"Fuck- Zo. I'm sorry, let me-" and he pauses when he sees the fear in her eyes, notices the way she flinches when he offers her his hand.

She’s looking at him like he’s a monster.

Maybe he is.

Connor takes a step back. Then another. Until he's turned his back and headed out the door.

He keeps walking, keeps walking until he’s outside and seated beneath a tree. He shuts his eyes, throws the back of his head against the tree trunk. Does it again. And again. He grinds his teeth together, running his hands through his hair and tugging.

Until he’s drained of all his anger, until he’s got nothing left to give, the fire raging inside his chest burning itself out and leaving him with nothing but a headache.

He opens his eyes in time to see Larry walking up to him. Connor doesn’t have it in him to try and avoid getting yelled out; no point in delaying the inevitable. So, he leans his head back, gently this time, and braces himself for yet another lecture.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, Larry sits down next to him. Connor feels his whole body tense up, unable to keep himself from flinches when Larry holds something out to him.

It takes longer than it should for him to figure out that it’s his phone. He reaches towards it, then stops. Because this is a trick. Narrowed eyes flick to Larry’s face, to the phone, and then back to his face again. It’s a trap. This is a trap and he’s not going to fucking fall for whatever he’s trying to pull right now.

When nothing changes, he decides to speak up.

“You’re kidding.”

“Take it,” Larry says, shaking it in front of him. Connor crosses his arms instead.

He's nearly convinced himself that he's finally managed to win an argument against  _ The  _ Larry Murphy until the phone lands in his lap. He'll never admit it, but he definitely jumps.

He only stares down at it, shifting himself until the device falls into the browning grass and pine needles beside him.

"This is a trick," Connor says, because he's not an idiot. He can spot one from a mile away.

But Larry stands his ground, picking the phone up again, rubbing the dirt off the screen with the sleeve of his shirt. "It's not."

Connor rolls his eyes. "Prove it."

From Larry comes a long and suffering sigh. "I can't control when you leave and come back, but I need to know you're  _ safe,  _ Connor. So, if you decide to stay out late, you need to tell someone. Deal?"

Defeated, he finally takes the phone, eyeing it suspiciously. It all looks the same it was when Larry confiscated it-- which he, admittedly, can't help but find a little disappointed.

He finds himself muttering some barely coherent agreement while he stands up, mindlessly scrolling through his messages while he walks away.

* * *

  
  


Connor's never been one to know just where he's going in life. There's never been some clear, set path laying before him that he can follow without a second thought, because thinking about making it to tomorrow makes his head hurt.

So, he's learned to roll with the punches. Follow what may or may not be a path that hasn't been used in years, and if that happens to lead to his inevitable death? So be it.

While his foot presses a pinecone against the concrete sidewalk, failing to give him even a hint of a  _ crunch! _ He, finds himself closing his eyes while he continues to walk.

He brings his phone up, staring at the darkened reflection. He's sure Larry's using it to track him. But what if he were to throw it into the road? What if he kept on walking? Would he end up living in the countryside, far away from here with a happy family of goats?

Or would he find himself at the edge of the cliff a few miles out?

He doesn't know, because he's never been one to follow through with anything. He doesn't have the energy for it.

Through his peripheral vision, he aims his foot in the direction of what he's sure is the most inflated pinecone he's come across yet. However, when it connects with the ground, instead of being met with a crunch that sends a straight shot of serotonin to his brain, a resounding  _ squeak _ echoes around him; like a tire losing air. It leaves him jumping, exclaiming, "What the fuck?"

When he lifts his shoe, he does it to find that it, in fact, was not a pinecone he happened to step on, but instead, something.. bug-like. But not quite. He doesn't know what, but there's something off about it. Like it doesn't belong.

He scrapes the remnants of it into a slimy smudge that stains a fading chalk drawing, a bright, almost glowing blue a stark contrast against the pale yellow. He grimaces, leaning closer to the ground, squinting.

The splotch is getting smaller, and there's a puff of steam emanating from it. It's growing smaller, smaller.

Until it's evaporated, and he's left staring at a poorly drawn sun with a smile.

He keeps walking, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the ground. There's a cold feeling on his neck, and he can't shake the feeling that he's being.. watched, but he's not. Just another day in the life of the paranoid freak.

It's not long after when he finds himself turning on his heel, heading back home.

He digs his hand into his pocket in pursuit of his earbuds, hoping that maybe, his memory really has gone to shit and that they aren’t sitting on top of the table beside his bed, masked from view with a picture frame.

They aren’t in his pocket.

He’s weighing the pros and cons of stopping to get some cheap dollar store earbuds from the nearest corner store when a loud clash drags him back out of his thoughts; accompanying it is a yelp, followed by laughter.

Connor picks up his pace; intervening in a fight is exactly what got his phone confiscated in the first place. He’s not risking it.

He makes the mistake of allowing himself to glance down the alleyway to his right and locks eyes with a cowering boy, who’s hugging his knees firmly to his chest. There's blood pouring from his nose, staining his khakis and polo.

What  _ really  _ lures Connor into walking headfirst into danger is the green, leaf-like thing that jumps from the boy's shoulder to his lap, squeaking mightily before a wall of vines erupts from its stomach, shoving away the attackers.

He doesn't remember smoking, but if he's not high, then he absolutely  _ has  _ to be crazy. But just in case, he needs to see this up close.

A vine stops right in front of his chest, causing him to freeze, automatically holding his hands up in mock surrender. He opts to try and silently make peace with this humanoid leaf, but a high-pitched scream bounces off the walls and stops abruptly, disappearing along with the Green Thing.

There are hands gripping firmly on his shoulders, and in one quick motion, he's turned around and shoved against the brick. His ears begin to ring. Whatever's being said- yelled- to him is going through one ear and out the next. Everything becomes a little distant, like he's not really there; a mere spectator to this fight-- if you could even call it that.

Until it isn't.

Everything comes crashing back down on him at once, and all he feels is rage. Anger settles deep within his chest and his skin itches. Everything's hot, but not  _ burning. _ And that's a problem.

Because, when he looks down, he sees that his body is covered in blue flames.

The man who'd been so willing to try and beat him to a pulp just moments ago is taking caution steps back, his eyes wide. Connor tells himself to let it be. He doesn't need to cause a scene. But it's no more than a fleeting thought as he charges at him.

And then immediately swept off his feet.

His head is becoming well acquainted with hard surfaces, it seems. The ringing in his ears gets louder, and his visions a little blurry, but whatever anger that had overwhelmed him is gone, and he's left with nothing more than exhaustion.

Dizzy, he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he’s met with wide eyes, searching over his face. The boy in the polo jumps back, and his worry is swiftly replaced by fear. 

For once, Connor doesn’t think that’s a valid reaction at  _ all.  _ He’s not the one who just swept out a group of people with some vaguely teddy bear shaped green thing.

Speaking of, that exact plant thing is resting on the boy’s shoulder. He stares at it.

It only has one eye; in place of its left is a dandelion. Attached to it is a vine placed in such a way that it kind of makes the dandelion look like an eyepatch, with various other plants growing off of it. He’s half sure it’s smiling at him. Hopefully, that’s a good thing.

“Blue flames..” he hears the boy mutter to himself, the fear still evident in his eyes, though not as intense. He thrusts a hand out towards Connor, who takes hold of it dutifully, standing slowly with his help.

The words finally catch up with him.

“You saw that too?” he blurts.

He nods, “I.. are you okay?”

Connor shrugs, rubbing at the back of his head. “Head hurts like a bitch.”

He winces, “Sor..sorry, I- it’s just. I didn’t give Bell clear.. clear instructions? B-but I felt like.. Like I had to do something because you were.. On fire.”

“Bell?” Connor repeats, because he’d rather not focus on the fact that he was on fire and has nothing to show for it.

“Oh! Right, yeah, sorry. They’re, uh. They’re my..” he trails off, squinting at Connor, “Familiar? I don’t.. is the term ‘demon’ offensive?”

The Plant Thing, whose name Connor is 99% sure is Bell, takes a leap of faith off of Evan’s shoulder. On instinct, he reaches down to catch it before it hits the ground. They cheer; stubby arms flailing upwards in delight.

“Why should I know?”

“Well, it’s just- you’reonearen’tyou?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t- that wasn’t meant to be rude at all? But, yeah, pointing that it out definitely has to be offensive, right? I was just curious, is all?”

Connor finds himself laughing. “You think i’m a demon?”

The boy stares at him for a long while, thinking. Like he’s trying to figure something out. He opens and closes so many times that he’s starting to look like a fish out of water.

Finally, he speaks. “Do you.. Know what blue flames mean?”

“Should I?”

He resumes his fish imitations, and Connor’s finding that this conversation is wearing down on his nerves.

“Spit it out,” he snaps.

The boy winces, but otherwise doesn’t speak to him-- instead, opting to whisper something to Bell, who produces a bouquet of flowers from their chest. He picks them, holding it out to Connor, who takes it after a moment of hesitation. He’s busy trying to figure out what the fuck they are when he realizes that he’s trying to  _ leave. _

“Hey!” he shouts, and the stranger stops abruptly. “What is this?”

“They’re.. Flowers?”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“No! No. They.. “ he freezes, giving a subtle shake of his head, “I have to go,” and then he’s speed walking away; not allowing Connor so much as a chance to ask for his name.

* * *

  
  


When he arrives home, he’s busy scrolling through Google images, in search for anything that might be remotely familiar to the variety of plants he’s still got in his hands. Because, apparently, flowers have  _ meanings _ . It has to have some meaning-- otherwise, he’s officially writing Plant Guy off as the craziest person on the face of the Earth.

He’s just found one the weird intricate one that looks like it’s popped straight out of a fictional world when there’s a knock at his door. Glimpsing up, he gets a quick shot of Larry in the doorway. Stubbornly, he decides to ignore him and hope that the bizarreness of the day keeps on doing whatever it’s doing and Larry leaves him alone.

The world only works to antagonize Connor Murphy, it seems, because Larry does not leave, and instead decides to invite himself into Connor’s room.

“I heard about what happened this morning.”

Now, he doesn’t respond because he wants to remain being stubborn  _ and  _ because the madness of the day has wiped this morning from his memory and right off the edge of the earth. Larry sighs, takes a seat right at the foot of his bed, his arms crossed.

“Zoe told me you pushed her,” he continues.

Connor rolls his eyes.

“She also told me..” he trails off, and Connor watches him shake his head, ever so slightly. “I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot more time away from home.”   
  


“Do you expect me to stay cooped up in my room all day?” he shoots back.

“I don’t want you to grow up being reliant on someone willing to drop everything just to make sure you’re okay. I can’t always send Zoe out to search for you, and you can’t snap at everyone around you. Connor. You should be past this by now. This behaviour is childish.”

“I don’t remember asking you to send anyone out to look for me.”

“What do you expect us to do, then? Wait up for you all night? Go to sleep and pretend we might wake up to find out that you froze to death out there? How would people react to that? Do you ever stop to think about how much your actions harm everyone around you?”

“Oh fuck off,” he starts, a sharp laugh escaping him. He stands abruptly. “If you’re that worried about what  _ i’m  _ doing to  _ your  _ reputation, i’ll just leave.”

“Connor, you know we can’t have that..”

“Huh? Why not? Because I hurt everyone around me? You scared i’m gonna go wander off and commit arson, go steal a fucking puppy from a kid?”

“This isn’t about-”

“Do  _ not  _ give me that bullshit. You can’t even bring yourself to give a single flying fuck about my well being. You just care about how everyone else perceives you, and you’d just  _ hate  _ to see it all come crumbling down when everyone sees how much of a  _ failure  _ you are, right? That’s what this is about.”

“Connor. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“Sure.  _ Sure.  _ Whatever. I’m putting words into your mouth, but you and I both know it’s what you want to say. Just admit it: you’d be better off if you’d just left me to freeze to death. You’d be better off if you took Zoe and left-”

A resounding slap bounces off the walls, ringing in Connor’s ears. HIs cheek stings. It doesn’t click until he sees the way Larry’s hand is suspended in midair, notices how wide his eyes have grown.

“That was.. Connor. I didn’t mean to-”

“Get out.”

“Connor.”

“You know what? Stay. Just fucking stay right there.” he pulls his phone out of his pocket, throwing it against the wall. “You’re sick, you know that? You’re not even my fucking dad. It would have been kinder if you left us to freeze. Fuck you.  _ Fuck. You.  _ I never want to see you again, got that?”

With that, he speed walks outside the room, only sparing a glance over his shoulder when he hears something thud against the ground.

He looks back just in time to see a blue flame erupt in the room, flooding out into the doorway.

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all feedback is appreciated! (But if you plan on giving criticism please be gentle)


End file.
